by Byron Bixler
From the April 2015 Issue

Watch her as she walks.

Golden hair and knee-high dress
A creature of great beauty.
Quiet, docile, so withdrawn
What harm could she pose?
Her eyes are down,
but yours pursue.
Creeping slowly, lingering,
a sudden impulse rises.
Calling out, whistling,
perhaps a stolen kiss?
A penetration, audible,
a brief intrusive touch?
The gaze now turned malicious,
the action far too much.
You pause for her reaction,
you find it in her look,
Fear, disdain, confusion,
her innocence you took.
A daily sting, a million stares,
with yours the final one,
A hidden razor, now removed,
the onslaught has begun.
Flesh torn open, gushing blood,
you fall upon your knees,
Choking out “I’m sorry”,
but she ignores the pleas.
Lying on the edge of death,
you feel your last convulsion.
The gaze reversed, the girl looks on
Now you know of her repulsion.

Inspired by the 1965 film, “Repulsion”